I have a routine on Sunday. I start the coffee, send off the Nielsen Homescan Data (I am to household purchasing what the Nielsen ratings are to TV), and I sit at my computer.
To be honest, most of my life runs on routine, but Sunday mornings I look forward to because
- I am up before anyone else so the house is quiet
- That’s when I can read Dave Barry
I have loved Dave Barry almost since he began writing. He’s formulaic, but always funny within that formula and a great deal of my quoted material comes from his columns.
I cooled on my interest when he was between wives because I suspected from his book Dave in Cyberspace, that he found his new wife in an Internet chat area and I felt sorry for the previous wife. I also thought he wasn’t quite as funny then, but it could have been my filter.
Today, pulling up his column, I knew immediately I had to send the link to my father (remember him? — he’s outstanding in his field). An avid fisherman, like his father, I knew he would enjoy the humor.
Fly fishing is not a group or even a spectator sport; it is for the soul who relishes the thoughtfulness, skill and challenge.
In my mind’s eye, I can see my father standing in a meadow where the only indication of a stream is when you come directly upon it. It is early morning, the sun barely up and mist rising from the water. He’s wearing his hat, standing tall and straight, almost motionless, except for the occasional flick of the rod; the essence of Zen.
I wish I could post this picture, but it exists only in my mind. Dad, this column is for you.